


Extending the Metaphor

by Thor_The_PopTart_Slut



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bad Fic, Collars, Deliberate Badfic, Dom/sub, In-Jokes, M/M, Metaphors, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Powerful Manly Buttocks, Punishment, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:44:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thor_The_PopTart_Slut/pseuds/Thor_The_PopTart_Slut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Do you see that soiled handkerchief lying there," Laurent pointed, "marring the beauty of My gorgeous and expensive marble floor? I have named it Akielon, and I am going to try to pick it up fastidiously with My buttcheeks."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extending the Metaphor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aljan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljan/gifts).



Standing in the center of his vast and richly decorated throne room, which was vacated for the evening, Prince Laurent dropped his breeches, which were of finest midnight-blue velvet slashed with silver-colored silk. He wore nothing beneath, for this story happened in a time and place analogous to when men in Earth!Europe did not yet wear undergarments. Also, he liked going commando.

"What are You doing, my True Liege And Master?" Damen inquired from the floor, where he knelt nakedly. Around his neck was a collar that said PROPERTY OF LAURENT. At his knee was a full bowl of kibble, for he had been a bad boy and would not be allowed wet food for some time.

"Do you see that soiled handkerchief lying there," Laurent pointed, "marring the beauty of My gorgeous and expensive marble floor? I have named it Akielon, and I am going to try to pick it up fastidiously with My buttcheeks."

"May i ask, my Most Illustrious And Utterly Dominate Master," Damen squinted, "why You are undertaking this curious exercise?"

Laurent sighed. "Because I am bored with watching you and the rest of My court act out ensemble sex acts of exaggerated transgressiveness, not to mention so poorly written that I might as well be reading stories about your helping Me floss My teeth. Anne Rice did it better in those 'Beauty' books of hers. This is, at the very least, a more inventive pastime."

"Forgive my impertinence, my Lord, but what inspired You with this idea?" Damen asked, watching Laurent's hard, muscular buttocks flex like sacks full of anacondas and his manly scrotum dangle like an uvula as he crouched over the offending scrap of linen.

"Well," Laurent grunted, "you were not in attendance on Me the other night because I had left you strapped to the spanking bench all night as punishment for breathing too loudly. But My court was graced with the presence of a traveling storyteller named Dossouye. Ze spoke of a far-off land called Failfandonia, where the inhabitants conduct the strangest arguments."

"What sorts of arguments would those be, O Most Masterful And Creatively Punitive One?" Damen submissively inquired.

"For example," Laurent elaborated, "they have quarreled over the right sort of spice to sprinkle over a type of barbarian drink that I do not even think the wretched Akielonians would partake of. They have also come to near-blows over the tastiness of a variety of apple, how one properly chops onions, and whether one should unshod oneself inside one's own domicile."

Damen frowned. "my Lord, i must say, such arguments sound trivial to the point of ludicrousness."

"Of course they are. The inhabitants of Failfandonia are privileged shitlords upon whose hands time hangs very heavily indeed. However, one of their arguments intrigued Me, and that was the argument of whether one could pick up a handkerchief intergluteally in the manner of a man speaking the language of an enemy whom he detests. It made thoughts bloom from My head like puffs of smoke. 

“Granted, Dossouye the storyteller warned, the argument had become rather convoluted after passing through several permutations, and the one ze was relating perhaps did not accurately reflect the original point of contention. However, this troubles Me not, for as Prince I get to decide which arguments are most relevant to My realm."

And, with that, Laurent slowly lowered his powerful and impressive nether globes to the floor until the cleft of them hovered just above Akielon. Damen watched appreciatively as his Master attempted to snap up the dirtied handkerchief several times, his asscheeks reminiscent of the jaws of a snapping turtle, or perhaps the little crane in one of those arcade machines full of tiny stuffed animals. Finally, he managed to trap the silken border of Akielon between them. As he stood, the handkerchief fluttered from between them like the standard of a disgraced nation.

Damen said, “i beg the pardon of my Most Powerful And Loving Prince And Dominate, but may i offer You applause?"

"You may," Laurent said curtly. Damen began to clap his hands together, the chains around his wrists clinking, and that sound plus the blows of his palms against one another echoed off the throne room's marble surfaces. Finally he ceased, and the combined sounds died away.

"Now," Laurent said. He waddled like a well-bred penguin toward Damen, then turned around and presented his prince-slave with the tableau of his shapely buttocks with the handkerchief caught between them. "Remove it with your teeth, Damen, and you shall feast on AvoDerm instead of dry kibble for the rest of your penance."

With a moue of distaste, Damen leaned forward and pinned the outer edge of Akielon between his front teeth. Then he drew his head backward, pulling, until Laurent's hindcleft was completely freed of the handkerchief.

"Well done," Laurent said, leaning over to pull up his breeches again. "Not actually cute, but well done." He patted Damen affectionately on the head, then strode from the throne room.

About an hour later, Damen decided it would be safe to spit the handkerchief out. However, not wanting to be put into a Cone of Shame, he folded it and laid it in a neat square on the arm of Laurent’s throne.


End file.
